


fall harder

by corsica



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Young Hanzo Shimada, Young Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 10:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corsica/pseuds/corsica
Summary: a long night leads to a tired morning, and both of them have to realize that nothing lasts forever





	fall harder

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from a skylar spence song

 

 

 

 

 

 

The party is starting to wind down.

In front of him, the bonfire that once raged high is now burning nothing but embers. He draws circles in the sand with the bottle of half-empty, lukewarm beer he has in a loose hold. With a crack of his neck he shifts his feet in the sand and pulls the cigarette out of his mouth to blow rings of smoke in the air.

Vibrations in the sand make him look up, and as tired as he is he recognizes a handsome face when he sees one.

Long fingers pluck the cigarette out of his mouth and throw it in the flickering bonfire. He tries to look put-off but he's too tipsy to really care about losing one smoke. He's also too enamored with the person in front of him to care about anything else in the first place.

“How many times have I told you to stop smoking these, Jesse?”

McCree grins and leans into the hand that placed itself on his cheek and wraps an arm around his trim waist and underneath the lacy, gray shawl.

“Was wonderin' where you went off to, Hanzo.”

“It was getting too cold to stay in swimwear,” He murmurs and allows McCree to pull him down and into his lap.

“Mh,” McCree toys with the waistband of Hanzo's short white shorts as his eyelids droop. “Your shirt's got sand on it,” He runs his hand up his bare stomach up to the black fabric to place a hand on his ample chest and brush away what little sand there actually was. “Better head back to your hotel so you can change, yeah?”

“We can go to yours,” Hanzo pushes his chest into McCree's hand. “I know you've been wanting to take me for a ride.”

McCree barks out a laugh, “Double entendre isn't exactly your strong suit, babydoll.”

“I was being literal.” Hanzo says flatly. “It is your mind that makes it dirty.”

“Aw, don't pretend you don't like it.”

The grin doesn't leave McCree's face as their foreheads touch. Their eyes close and their lips meet and slowly meld against each other.

Hanzo pulls back from the kiss, licking his lips. He stands up and steps back onto the soft sand, grabbing McCree's hands and pulling him up off the log he was sitting on. The smile on his face grows as McCree falls into him, his hands finding their way on Hanzo's hips. Strong arms wrap around his tanned neck and the lacy shawl falls around them as they kiss.

“C'mon,” He pecks Hanzo on the lips again. “Let's get going.”

They run along the beach and pass by washed-out party goers and drunken couples hanging off each other. Parking lot asphalt grinds against their sandals as they near McCree's beat up Harley. Being out of breath and panting didn't stop either of them from laughing their heads off. Their hands touch palm-to-palm and their fingers intertwine as they stand under the bright glow of the moon.

Hanzo's white teeth peeks out of his smile as he looks up at McCree, “I'll be sure to hold on tight.”

McCree grins; his cheeks are starting to hurt, but God he doesn't care.

He kicks the engine into gear and relishes in the feeling of Hanzo's arms tightly wrapped around him.

The roads are empty. Reflectors in-between lane lines beam as his headlights pass over them. Streetlights flicker and illuminate the roads that get progressively worn and cracked and sprinkled with potholes. The houses match the roads in how run-down they look the farther they ride, with dogs tied to chain-length fences and barking as they go past. Light pollution keeps the stars from coming out; the humidity outside makes McCree's hair stick to his face uncomfortably, makes sweat roll down his neck.

He comes to a stop sign and places his hand over Hanzo's. His heart is swelling.

A neon sign with the “NO” in “NO VACANCY” unlit comes into view and the motorcycle slows to a stop in the parking lot of a roadside motel where “dingy” barely begins to describe it. The paint on the walls that must have been purple at one point is chipped and faded. Pavement cracks in every direction and water and mud coagulate in the holes that scatter all over the lot. The neon sign above the main entrance has a blown-out letter C and an arrow underneath points to the “HECK IN”.

McCree does a shit parking job, managing to take up two spaces with his Harley, and he pulls off his helmet to put it in the bag on the side of his bike. Hanzo chuckles, handing him his own helmet and patting down his hair and pulling it up into a messy ponytail.

He just grins at Hanzo, dumb and in love.

Hanzo yanks him off the motorcycle and tugs him past the dilapidated ice machine right around the corner from the “heck-in”. He laughs and pulls Hanzo back and into him, wrapping his arms around his waist and swaying as he presses a line of kisses up his neck. A giggle leaves Hanzo, then a soft sigh, and then he's turning his head and pressing their foreheads together and gently letting their lips touch. It's fleeting and soft and they both yearn for more.

“M' room is right there,” He murmurs, kissing under Hanzo's jaw, his eyes flicking up to the door with the bronze number “105” hanging on it; the five is dangling upside-down.

They separate but their fingers stay entwined. McCree fumbles with the keycard as Hanzo embraces him from behind and grabs on tightly to his loose-fitting tank top that smells like the ocean. The green light on the lock comes on, and he turns his head and smiles at Hanzo. He breaks free of the embrace to pull Hanzo inside, and locks the door as fast as he can.

Hanzo is stunned, with a little bit of whiplash, and McCree takes the opportunity to hike Hanzo up against the door and kiss him senseless.

He keeps up astonishingly fast. His legs lift up to wrap around McCree's waist as he grasps at his stubbled face. His hands thread in brown, sea-breezed locks as the breath is kissed out of him. One of McCree's hands goes down past his back and squeezes. The other hand grabs Hanzo's own and presses it up against the door. Their fingers intertwine. A tongue tangles with his own. By the time they part mouths his eyes are half-closed and dreamy and his legs squeeze around McCree's midsection to pull him closer.

“You smell like the ocean,” Hanzo speaks softly, blinks slowly, smiles.

McCree places his forehead to Hanzo's and grins. His eyes are lit up.

“You taste like Fireball,” McCree laughs a little, squeezes Hanzo's hand that's pressed up against the door.

One gentle push is all it takes to move McCree off him as his legs slide off his waist and his sandals click onto the floor. Two swift little kicks take his shoes off, his fingers running through his mussed hair. Three steps to the bed and the lace shawl around his shoulders falls to the floor.

Four, five seconds pass before McCree stops gawking.

Hanzo hums and leans back into McCree as he slots up behind him. Goosebumps rise on his skin as McCree leaves fleeting kisses against his neck and shoulder and his long hair falls to one side as he tilts his head. Square fingers pinch the hem of his halter top and pull up, Hanzo's arms lifting up to allow ease of movement.

“You sure you wanna do this?” McCree's voice is low against his ear.

Hanzo scoffs, “I ride with you on your motorcycle and join you at your very shitty roadside motel room. You shove me up against a door and pull me against you and _strip_ me,” Hanzo gives him a look. “Obviously, I am going to back out now.”

McCree sputters a little, “Well, I mean—.”

“If I did not want this,” Hanzo interrupts. “you would not be standing there right now. Now, are you going to take off your clothes or not?”

McCree blinks, stunned, then laughs and kisses him on the cheek

“Alright, you made your point.”

He tugs his shirt off over his head and sits on the edge of the bed. The sheets are starchy and the mattress is no goose-down in any sense of the word. Hanzo steps out of his shorts and underwear, utterly nude, and straddles him, his fingers carding through McCree's short brown hair. Two hands rest on his hips as their lips touch. He tightens his grip on McCree's hair as he feels his tongue run against his own.

Hanzo is briefly stunned as McCree breaks the kiss suddenly. He places his hand on Hanzo's cheek and strokes his soft skin.

“Um,” McCree's voice is soft as he averts his gaze, “When are you...going back to Japan?”

“The end of summer,” Hanzo mumbles and leans into the hand on his cheek,“We still have time, Jesse.”

“I just, I want this to last,” He tilts his head forward and rests against Hanzo's collarbone.

“Let's talk about this later, okay?” His hands cup McCree's face and their eyes meet, his voice dipping into a low timbre. “I want you.”

Hanzo prepares himself quickly and pulls down McCree's shorts with the same impatience. His hair falls over his face as he sinks down. The palm of McCree's hand rests against the back of his neck as his fingers tangle in his hair. His other hand rests on the small of his back as he pulls their bodies flush together, and Hanzo's arms wrap around his back. A breathy sigh comes out and he squeezes his arms around McCree.

“Hey...” McCree kisses his temple, massages his scalp with his fingertips. “You okay?”

Hanzo breathes out.

“ _Yes...”_

Neither of them last long; too pent up before they even made it to the bed. Their bodies press together as they move in tandem. Hanzo's nails scratch down McCree's back as he muffles his moans in the crook of his neck while McCree grips his hips like a vice and rocks into him. He bites down on Hanzo's shoulder and sucks until it blossoms into a bright red mark that'll fade into a hickey by tomorrow. The nail marks on his back that have turned into deep, angry lines won't be covered by any of his tank tops. Both of them have claimed what's theirs.

McCree climaxes first but Hanzo follows right behind him. Their bodies stay flush against each other as their heated skin rapidly cools.

Hanzo moves first by placing his hands on McCree's shoulders and slowly bringing himself up and off. The smile he gives is tired but dreamy. He cups McCree's cheek and runs the tips of his fingers through his messy, tangled hair. In spite of his exhaustion, McCree grins at him with his teeth showing and leans into his hand as his eyes close. He hums a little tune that has Hanzo feeling drowsier by the second.

“Let's get some sleep,” McCree's opens his eyes with great struggle. “I'll treat you to a romantic breakfast.”

Hanzo cracks an eye open and regards him with slight disdain, “I know you are just going to take me to Waffle House.”

McCree flashes a grin at him, “I'll take you somewhere nice, I promise.”

The air leaves Hanzo's lungs in a wheeze as McCree yanks him down onto the bed and into his arms. He huffs and turns his head to glare at McCree and receives a wink in response. Rolling his eyes, Hanzo turns in his hold to face him and places his hands on his chest. McCree takes his smaller hand in his own and moves it closer to his heart; Hanzo can feel the _thump-thump_ against his palm.

They sleep with their limbs tangled together.

 

***

 

It's an early afternoon when they finally rise from bed with mutual hangovers. Hanzo's hair sticks up in the places where it isn't completely flat and greasy. McCree, half awake and still a little delirious, tries valiantly to pat down Hanzo's cowlicks and almost ends up slapping him in the face. A groan that sounds like a whine comes from Hanzo. He squeezes his eyes shut and bats away McCree's hand and sits up in bed and turns to place his feet flat against the floor.

“Ffffff...” Hanzo starts and rubs his eyes with his knuckles. “Fuck.”

McCree falls out of bed soon after and they head to the bathroom to shower together. The fluorescent lights do nothing to help their hangovers and they rub at their heads as the pain of the sudden light fades into a dull throb. Hanzo moves first to strip off his clothes and McCree follows his lead to let his clothes fall to the linoleum tile that probably hasn't been properly maintained in over thirty years.

“God dammit.” McCree hisses as he fiddles with the shower and tries to set it on a temperature that isn't scalding hot or freezing cold. “How the fuck do they always make these things impossible to work?”

It takes a minute for him to finally set it on a comfortable temperature and he steps in, holding Hanzo as he gets in so he doesn't fall over. Their minds might as well be playing static as they wash each other up. The deep-seated exhaustion between the two of them makes the situation metaphorically and literally flaccid as bags settle between their eyes. Hanzo starts drifting off underneath the warm spray and McCree has to steady him and help him wake up. Another groan escapes him and he mumbles something unintelligible and rests his forehead against McCree's collarbone. McCree's hand awkwardly hangs in the air for a second before he pats him on the back.

“Here.” Hanzo grabs for the soap and attempts to hand it to McCree but it falls out of his hands. “Ugh.” He bends down to pick up the soap only to drop it again. “Fuck!”

McCree laughs despite Hanzo's glaring at him. He laughs even harder as Hanzo drops it twice more before finally picking it up.

They finish quickly and dry off with the starchy white towels provided for them. Stomachs growling, they come to a quick understanding that they dearly need to eat. However, the thought of getting on McCree's motorcycle to go anywhere for food is the least appealing thing to both of them. Hanzo wears a too-big shirt McCree gives him and the shorts he wore yesterday. McCree wears a band t-shirt so faded the text is nigh unreadable and also the shorts he wore yesterday.

“Where can we walk to for food?” Hanzo asks with a yawn as he ties his hair up in a messy ponytail.

McCree grimaces.

The walk to Waffle House takes five minutes max. McCree has one hand holding Hanzo's while the other shields his eyes from the sun. Hanzo takes to groaning and rubbing his eyes while they walk across the parking lot that might as well be the Mojave Desert from how strongly the sun is hitting the asphalt.

“I did not even drink that much.” Hanzo rubs his forehead as they get inside and settle into a booth. “At least, I don't think I did.”

“You sure as shit weren't doing kegstands but I don't think you went ten minutes without a bottle of vodka in your hand, sweetheart.”

Hanzo makes a face and leans into the scratched glass table.

“I don't even like vodka that much.”

“I hear there's another party tonight.” McCree sips on his water. “Let's not go.”

“The best idea I have ever heard.”

A waitress who looks to be four decades older than them takes their order and sets it out for them not long after. Hanzo picks at the fries that came with his hamburger while McCree looks at him with an almost insulted look as he pours syrup onto his waffles. Hanzo catches on and raises one sculpted eyebrow at him while munching on his food.

“...Um. Is there a problem?”

“We're eating at a place called _Waffle House_ and you got a burger and fries?” McCree gestures at his plate. “That's just wrong.”

Hanzo cannot possibly roll his eyes hard enough.

They sit in silence as their hangovers gradually begin to fade away. McCree sneaks glimpses at Hanzo as he chews on his food, trying to be discreet and failing. Hanzo stops organizing his fries in order of length as he feels McCree's gaze on him. He meets his eyes and raises both of his eyebrows. McCree flinches, looks away, coughs a little. Hanzo sighs and reaches over to place his hand over McCree's.

“You are not being subtle.”

McCree places his fork down and grimaces as he rubs at his forehead.

“This—we—Hanzo, look, I just, how much longer we got?” He twines their fingers together. “I don't want this to end when you leave. I like you, a whole damn lot.”

Hanzo sinks back in the booth until his chin touches his chest and his ponytail is a mess of black against the ripped red cushion.

“I feel nervous, too.” He bites down on his lower lip. “But to not give it a try at all...”

McCree sets his fork down and gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah. And like you said, I mean, we still got time. Best make use of it.”

Hanzo takes a bite from his burger and chews with a thoughtful expression.

“After we finish eating,” Hanzo starts, “do you want to go back to your room and sleep some more?”

“I guess, but I mean, Hanzo, don't you got a really nice hotel room, y'know, right by the beach?” He shrugs. “Could just take you there. Don't know why you didn't just go back there last night. I know you've been wanting to ride my Harley for a lil' while, but...”

He scoffs, “Yes, let me go back to my _amazing hotel_ , so I can pay extra for bottled water.” Hanzo props his elbow up and places his chin on his fist. “It's so stupid. I can fill a, a...canteen for free by using a _sink.”_

McCree brings his water up to his mouth to hide the smile on his face.

“Hanzo.” He says after he takes a drink. “S'okay. I like bein' with you too. Doesn't matter where.”

Muttering something indistinct, Hanzo turns his head to hide the blush on his face.

It only takes them a few minutes to finish their food. Hanzo pays despite McCree's numerous protests. He tries to tip as well, but McCree forces the money back in Hanzo's grip and slaps his own crinkled bills on the table. Their waitress gives them a hard stare as they pettily argue over the payment and she's met with two sheepish smiles in response. A roll of her eyes gets her some mumbled thank-yous in response. The table is cleared of all plates and cash and the two walk out of the door hand in hand as their shoulders bump into each other.

Hanzo stands on his toes and kisses McCree on the cheek and laughs when he sees the bright shade of red his face turns to.

The sun is still a yellow blight in the sky as it scorches the two of them. Being no longer hungover, however, makes the trek back less of a crawl across a wasteland and more of a tiresome chore. Exhaustion still creeps in though, and Hanzo has his eyes closed and is leaning against McCree as he fiddles with the key to his room once more. He swears as he fucks up the card again and then again once more until finally the door beeps and a green light appears. Hanzo barges past him and wastes no time in kicking off his shoes and stepping out of his shorts.

“You don't waste any time, do you?” McCree says with a laugh as he locks the door.

Hanzo hums and curls into a ball in the middle of the bed.

McCree kicks his shoes off and flops down on the bed beside Hanzo. A big yawn comes from him as he wraps an arm around Hanzo's back and tugs him in close. McCree moves in as Hanzo wraps his arms around him and presses his face into his chest.

“You goin' back to sleep?” McCree mumbles and strokes the top of Hanzo's head with his thumb.

“I will later.” He opens his eyes and peers up at McCree. “Tell me one of your stories.”

His eyes close and he listens to McCree go on about something that happened when he was in high school that ended with one of his teachers coercing his class into cleaning his car. He's not really listening and McCree knows it and Hanzo knows that he knows it but appreciates that he keeps talking anyway.

One day this is going to end.

Hanzo is going to have to take a 12 hour flight back to Japan. He'll be back in his large bed with his 500 count sheets. McCree will go back to his 1bd/1ba apartment where he routinely hears the distant sounds of gunfire. Hanzo won't be able to feel warm, chapped lips on his neck anymore and McCree won't be able to run his fingers through silky, black hair. The promises they've made are all they have.

Even though the future is uncertain, they know they don't want to give up.

“Hey.” McCree tilts his head and runs his fingers through Hanzo's hair. “You still awake?”

“Mhm.” Hanzo places his hands flat against McCree's chest and kisses him gently on the tip of his nose. “I like being here with you, Jesse.”

McCree responds with a grin and dips down to kiss him. Hanzo links his fingers behind McCree's neck and feels the reverberations of McCree's laughter against his lips. He starts laughing, too, for no other reason than McCree is, and soon they pull back and simply laugh until their cheeks begin to hurt. One of his hands leaves McCree's chest to grab for McCree's own and he twines their fingers together. He surges up and places kisses all over his face, leaving McCree to giggle even harder.

Their fits end with both of their faces red and small teardrops in the corners of their eyes.

His face softens as he looks at Hanzo. With a gentle tug he pulls him in closer until their bodies are flush together. He smooths back his hair and tucks it behind his ear and kisses him so gentle and sweet that Hanzo feels himself melt against him. Hanzo tangles their legs together as he lets McCree nibble on his bottom lip. His other arm throws itself around McCree's neck and lets his fingers dig into short, brown hair.

The words “I love you” are whispered against his lips and Hanzo squeezes his hand in silent affirmation.

One day this is going to end.

But that doesn't mean they won't try.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
